The Shop
by Ke Roth
Summary: Jean-Luc and Beverly do a little pre-wedding shopping. A piece of P/C fluff.


The Shop

It had all been Marie's idea.

Beverly had declared that she would be fine with getting a dress from the replicator – but Marie had protested. Vociferously.

"You want your wedding dress coming from a replicator?" she had said, appalled by the idea when Beverly had announced it.

"Marie, a replicator can make any dress I want – and it will fit perfectly," Beverly had protested.

"Yes – but this is your wedding dress! It should be special!" the woman had argued.

Beverly smiled. "It will be; I'll be wearing it when I marry Jean-Luc," she said softly.

Marie had smiled at that, taking the woman into her arms, hugging her tightly. If only everyone had understood that it was the event that made the gown special, not the other way around.

Which made it, of course, all the more important that Beverly's dress was perfect – including the perfection that only came from being created by someone who genuinely cared about what they were creating and for whom they were creating it.

It also meant, Beverly sighed on this, her third trip to Paris for yet another fitting, time. After decades of having her clothes generated in an instant by a computer and a replicator, she was unused to the need for these frequent meetings with the designer and the seamstress.

Thank God I only wanted a simple dress, she thought to herself; if this had been a traditional gown...

But gowns were for younger women, she told herself, and brides at their first wedding. This event was neither – and Jean-Luc had made it clear that he didn't care what she wore.

All that mattered to him was that she was to be his bride.

She glanced at the man seated beside her on the shuttle from LaBarre to Paris, then squeezed his hand.

He glanced up from the padd he was reading, saw the expression on her face, and smiled back.

"You didn't have to come with me, you know," she reminded him.

"It's my pleasure, Beverly," he demurred. "I can catch up on these reports – and I thought we could have sometime to ourselves – and something to eat - before going back to the house," he added. "I know of a place..."

"As long as I don't put on any weight between now and the wedding," she reminded him. "Marie's dressmaker has this dress fitting like a glove. If I gain even a gram of weight, it's going to show. I even had to make sure I brought the lingerie that I'm wearing at the wedding so that the fit is consistent," she added, nodding at the small carryall she had brought with her.

He raised a brow, smiling. "Something appropriate for our wedding night, I hope," he teased.

"For our wedding night, yes – but I do have to do a little shopping for our honeymoon," she said uncertainly. "I hope you don't mind."

He sighed in mock exasperation, then smiled and kissed her. "Of course not. I do have my reports," he reminded her, then added, "and I expect that I will see – and appreciate - the results of my patience soon enough."

"Just over a week, now," she reminded him.

He frowned. "We've waited twenty years – and now one week seems like an eternity," he complained.

She patted his arm, then moved closer, kissing him softly – then not so softly, as he responded to her touch.

A soft cough interrupted the two. "Excuse me, Monsieur, Madame; we will be landing shortly," the shuttle's steward informed them awkwardly.

A little embarrassed, they pulled apart – then Picard turned his attention back to his padd.

His fingers, however, remained interlocked with Beverly's.

It was mid-afternoon by the time the fitting was over. Exhausted from having to patiently stand as the seamstress adjusted minute detail after minute detail on the dress, Beverly had almost no desire to search out the lingerie shop that Marie had recommended, let alone to sift through the shop's inventory of little nothings – and on another day she would have put off the shopping for another day.

But with the wedding only a week away, there would be no chance for another trip back to Paris – and as much as she knew Jean-Luc loved her for who she was, and not for whatever wisps of lace and silk she might take for their honeymoon on Pacifica, she also knew he was a man who would fully appreciate her taking the time to dress for the event – even if it was only so that he could undress her.

"You don't have to come with me, Jean-Luc," she reminded him as they made their way through the narrow streets that wound through the city.

"And have you get lost?" he teased. "Never. In any case, I promised you a meal, and I'm not about to renege on that promise."

"Are you sure? Most men aren't comfortable in lingerie shops," she pointed out.

"I am not 'most men'," he countered, smiling.

"Well, no peeking at what I buy," she said. "I want it to be a surprise for when we reach Pacifica."

"Agreed. No peeking," he said, smiling playfully, squeezing her hand.

She studied him for a moment, surprised by his attitude; Jean-Luc Picard was many things – but playful and romantic weren't usually parts of his personality he displayed outside the privacy of their quarters.

Then again, the back streets and alleys of Paris weren't exactly public places.

The shop turned out to be a fairly non-descript storefront in an otherwise unexceptional street; aged stone walls and a small window displaying some fairly unremarkable bras, panties and garters, along with a wooden sign that proclaimed the location as "Michelle's".

It was hardly what Beverly had been expecting.

She entered the shop, the bell on the door ringing quietly as she entered, and was quickly greeted by an older woman, grey-haired and dressed in an unremarkable dress.

"Bonjour, Madame," she said softly.

"Hello," Beverly replied, a little uncertain; Marie had made the appointment for her, and it had never occurred to her to determine if anyone at the shop spoke Federation Standard. She glanced at Jean-Luc, knowing that he could translate of he had to – but somehow, she expected that asking him to interpret for her might not only make him exceedingly uncomfortable – but it would also ruin any honeymoon surprises she might find.

"Umm, I'm Beverly Crusher. Marie Picard made an appointment for me..."

"Ahh! Madame Crusher," the woman replied, the perfect smile of a practiced professional upon her lips. "I am Michelle. And this must be Monsieur Picard – your fiancé?" she asked.

"Umm, yes..." Beverly began.

"Of course!" she said. "Caroline!" she called out.

A younger woman entered the room, looking to the older woman.

The shopkeeper spoke quickly, then turned back to Beverly. "We have a room for Monsieur – to wait for you while you shop," she explained.

Picard met Beverly's gaze, then managed a shrug, conceding the matter. "I'll see you shortly," he said, then allowed the younger woman to escort him from the shop front.

At the same time Michelle led Beverly toward a second set of doors, and opening then, guided Beverly into another room. "Madame Picard said this is for your wedding trousseau?" she asked. "Did Madame have anything in particular in mind?"

Beverly hesitated, uncertain and a little uncomfortable despite her earlier confidence. It had been a long time since she had considered obtaining undergarments that were much more than utilitarian, and while the replicator on the Enterprise could have made them, until she and Jean-Luc had become lovers, there hadn't been a need.

"Umm..." she started, then stopped as Caroline entered the room, carrying a tray with a glass of champagne at its center.

She proffered the glass to Beverly, who took it uncertainly. "Champagne, Madame," Michelle explained. "To celebrate one's upcoming marriage – and one's upcoming nuit de noces… wedding night," she added with a knowing smile.

Beverly nodded, then sipped at the wine as Caroline and the shopkeeper began to open cabinets and drawers throughout the room, revealing an almost unimaginable display of lingerie in every color and material.

Stunned, Beverly took a gulp of the wine as Michelle turned to study her.

"Ivory, for the wedding night," she announced after looking at Beverly's porcelain skin and auburn hair. "Green, of course. And amethyst? No. Copper, to highlight her eyes, " she informed her assistant as she looked at Beverly's sapphire eyes.

Caroline hurriedly began to pull out pieces and arrange them on a chaise lounge at the far side of the room.

Two hours - and several glasses of wine later – Beverly stared at the pile of garments she had chosen – and smiled contentedly. Going to Pacifica for their honeymoon was going to be unnecessary, she thought; once he saw her in these, Jean-Luc wasn't going to want to leave the bedroom.

She looked at herself in the mirror, studying the last garments Michelle had selected – a bra of shimmering peach gossamer that proudly lifted her breasts , little shorts of the same fabric that clung possessively to her hips, stockings of the sheerest peach glimmer, holding to her thighs with bands of lace, dangerously high-heeled shoes that displayed her long and toned legs to their finest, and completed with a soft mist of a peignoir surrounding her.

It was beautiful – and she felt beautiful in it.

No, more than beautiful.

She felt exciting, erotic.

She couldn't wait for their wedding and the honeymoon; she wanted Jean-Luc to see her in this - and then to see her out of it.

Michelle glanced at Caroline, who smiled understandingly and left the room.

"Madame likes?" she asked.

"Madame likes," Beverly assured her – as she had for the last two hours. Despite her first impression of the shop and its owner, it had become quickly evident that Michelle knew her business – and understood her customers. "And I think Jean-Luc will like it too," she added.

"Perhaps Madame would like to... model... for her fiancé?" Michelle asked softly.

Beverly nodded without thinking – then turned quickly, looking at the woman in confusion. "I don't understand," she said.

The shopkeeper frowned slightly. "No? Madame does not know of Michelle's? Lingerie for the lady to adorn herself – and for the gentleman to appreciate. If the lady wishes? In private?" She gestured at the twin doors at the far side of the room – and Beverly suddenly realized it was the same room into which Caroline had taken Jean-Luc earlier.

"He's been watching me?" she gasped, appalled.

Michelle's face suddenly darkened. "No! Not without Madame's knowledge and approval!" she insisted. "Some of our patrons enjoy such activities, of course – but only with consent from both parties!"

Quickly calming herself, she continued, "No. Monsieur has been waiting on his lady – and on her decision," she added.

"Then he knew?" Beverly asked, stunned.

"Of Michelle's? But of course. Michelle's is known by all discerning ladies and gentlemen in France. Of your decision – to model for him, or not – no. Would Madame wish to do so?"

Beverly stared at the doors, uncertain – then nodded.

Michelle inclined her head a fraction of an inch, then gestured at the doors. "When Madame is ready," she said, then backed from the room, closing the door behind her.

Still, she stared at the far doors for a long moment – then drew in her breath, drew up her courage, and walked toward the doors.

She took the twin levers in her hands, then carefully opened the doors.

It was not just a waiting room, but more - so much more.

Dark paneling covered the walls, their heavy tones softened by luxurious draperies and a dangerously deep carpet. A richly upholstered chair was placed at the center of the room, facing away from the doors where Beverly now stood, a small table at one side, an empty champagne flute atop the intricately inlaid top.

And at the far side, covered in linens of satin, mounds of deep pillows, and thick comforters, stood a large bed.

This room wasn't just for 'modeling' the lingerie, she realized.

Startled by the sound of the opening doors, Jean-Luc rose from the center chair, turning to face her – then smiled.

"You look stunning," he managed. "Magnificent."

"You knew about this?" she asked bluntly.

"Of the place – yes. But coming here was Marie's idea," he explained.

"Ah," Beverly answered simply.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment – then he reached for the bottle of champagne that stood in a bucket next to the table, poured some into the flute, then proffered it to her.

She accepted it quickly, taking a heady swallow, then handed it back to him.

He finished the glass, then set it down, reaching his hands to her, pulling her into his embrace.

They kissed – but it was awkward, uncertain.

"We don't have to, you know. We could just have dinner – they're bringing dinner for us in a little while – and we could just sit and talk until then," he added.

"Is that what you want?" Beverly pressed.

Picard hesitated. "As... exciting... as this sounded – Walker told me about this place years ago – now that I'm here... I'll confess to being a little inhibited," he admitted.

She nodded, understanding – and agreeing.

It was romantic, erotic, and wonderfully exciting... and a little off-putting, she added to herself. Making love with Jean-Luc was private, something between the two of them – and even though she was utterly certain that Jean-Luc would not have agreed to this idea of Marie's if it hadn't been safe and secure – she still felt as though she were somehow on display.

Relieved at his response, she looked around the room, then realized there wasn't a place for the two of them to sit together, except for the bed. Taking his hand, she led him there, sitting on the edge, then leaning against him as he took a place beside her.

"I feel like I'm sixteen all over again, and this is the first time," she explained.

"As do I," he agreed, "except I was seventeen."

"Weren't you at the Academy by then?" she asked.

He nodded.

"That was dangerous," she laughed softly. "Getting caught fraternizing with another cadet could have gotten you expelled," she said.

He laughed, then raised her hand to his lips, kissing it before murmuring, "Who said it was a cadet?"

Her eyes widened. "Not a cadet? Surely not one of the instructors?"

Jean-Luc nodded. "Apparently she thought I needed some special instruction..."

"And did you?"

"For the first time I was with a woman? Of course. Fortunately, she was patient, and generous, and very, very instructive," he added, leaning close, kissing her softly.

She groaned softly at his kiss. "Instructive? How?" she whispered.

He smiled. "Shall I show you?"

Beverly nodded, then pulled him to her once again.

The kiss rapidly grew deeper, his hand moving from holding hers to sliding beneath the peignoir and caressing the smooth curve of her waist.

After a moment, she lay back on the bed, pulling him down with her.

So much for inhibitions she thought as he slowly eased the dressing gown from her shoulders – and then, for quite some time, she didn't think of anything.

Later, they lay on the bed together, the remains of the shared dinner on the bedside table, an empty wine bottle beside it – and Beverly's newest outfit carelessly strewn on the floor beside the table.

"We should be going," she sighed as she ran her fingertips up the length of his back. "It's late. The last shuttle to LaBarre will be leaving shortly. At least Marie will be in bed by the time we get to the house. I'm not sure how to face her. Even if she doesn't ask, she's going to know what we did," she sighed.

"Regrets?" he asked, pushing himself up on his elbows to look down at her.

Beverly smiled. "No. None."

"Then let's not add one," he said. "Let's spend the night here in Paris. I'll call for a hotel room, and let Marie know we won't be home until tomorrow. She'll have to settle for guessing what we did – or didn't do – here."

They rose from the bed, dressing as Jean-Luc used the room's communication system to arrange for a hotel room – then turned to look at Beverly as she smoothed her dress.

"Lovely as the outfit was, Beverly, it was gilding the lily," he sighed. "You are the most beautiful, the sexiest, the most erotic woman I know – and you would be so even if you were dressed in nothing but rags."

She smiled, moved closes to kiss him, then stepped back. "Then I should tell Michelle that I don't want any of the other things I picked out?" she teased.

He blanched. "Ummm... "

"I didn't think so," she laughed – the reached down for the garments he had stripped from her not too long before and held them out to him. "And should I have Michelle send these to the house as well... or take them with us?"

"Take them with. After all, you never did properly model them for me," he reminded her with a lascivious smile.

"Jean-Luc Picard, you are insatiable," she sighed, then kissed him once again.

"Luckily for you," she added as they pulled apart, "so am I. Now, how far away is that hotel?"


End file.
